


I'm Afraid I Can't Keep That Promise, Or Even Try My Best

by Salomonderiel



Series: If I Give You Time, Will You Teach Me? [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salomonderiel/pseuds/Salomonderiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <blockquote>
  <p>'He loves Steve, and screw it if the guy doesn't like him back. But five months ago Steve was walking and talking in 1940, for crying out loud. They electrocuted men for being gay then. So no big deal when your best mate goes and kisses you. It's just a life sentence to torture. And six months in a shiny new flashy world isn't going to wipe that knocked-in fact from a hard-drive.' </p>
</blockquote><p>Minor, minor warnings for homophobia, I guess. Bless 'im, he don't mean it really. And a tad angsty, with some poor self-esteem, but hey! All's well that ends well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Afraid I Can't Keep That Promise, Or Even Try My Best

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from 'Smiles All Round', by Deaf Havana - I was listening to it as I wrote.

He can't quite remember who asked who out first. How this whole thing of going-out-and-drinking started, or snacking in a cafe late at night - he thinks there was something about getting air earlier on but it's definitely not just that anymore. Nowadays, those nights where Clint's being loud and Bruce is muttering to himself in a corner and Thor's booming laughter at whatever reality show Coulson's got on the TV and Natasha's loudly grunting as she pummels some punchbag in the background, Tony'll just look across to Steve and they'll _know_ , and they don't even _say_ anything as they both rise and head out the door, grabbing coats - posh wool for Tony, the leather jacket for Steve, and they'll head out to some bar somewhere to chat and wind down in peace and just _talk_.

 

It's good. Tony likes it. And he's not lying to himself - years of getting it wrong has let him _know_ when he's hoping too hard, when it's all in his imagine and this _isn’t_ , he knows that. This isn't a drink out with a mate anymore. It's in the way Steve orders Tony's drink without asking. It's the way they share a fork when Steve wants to try some of Tony's dish. It's in the way they keep eye-contact for that bit longer when they laugh over some pathetic comment one of them makes, about the team, a mockery of Fury, a joke about their day. Something stupid, but eyes lingering. It's in the way, when Tony's leg falls against Steve's - by accident - Steve doesn't move his leg - Steve lets them rest against each other.

 

So Tony's isn't scared - okay, not THAT scared - to, one night, when Steve's laughing and they're walking back along a dark street that's pretty much deserted, to spin Steve around to face him, to loop a hand  around Steve's neck and pull him down into a kiss.

 

He realises now, though, how scared he really should have been. How _stupid_ he had been.

 

Because Steve doesn't kiss him back like he’d been imagining. No – Steve freaks. He wrenches his head back, stumbles back, eyes wide and really not in a good way. He looks _disgusted_ – and he doesn't bother to hide it. He doesn't hide it in the way he speaks, either. He calls Tony a queer, a faggot, a freak. He goes into _such_ great detail about how _wrong_ it is, how he thought Tony was more _man_ than that, more of a _better person_. He spews out all this hatred and horror and fucking American righteousness, and stands there, panting, staring at Tony like his whole world as just come collapsing around him and it's all Tony's fault.

 

Tony doesn't know about Steve's, but he knows his has. And yeah, it's all his fault. He's fucked it all up. Again. He doesn't reply to Steve, but turns around and takes the long way back to the mansion.

 

When he gets there, he doesn't look to see if Steve's there, and doesn't respond to Clint's yells for him to come and watch Thor's reactions to 'Jersey Shore', but heads to his bedroom. He's got JARVIS asking him if he's okay in one ear but Steve's insults are still echoing through the other, so he ignores the AI that's been his best friend for far too long and fuck it if that doesn't just hit home how much he's failed at in life. He thinks, for a second, before he settles on doing what he does best. He starts packing, so he can run away.

 

He didn't get the messages wrong, he was right, he knows that. He loves Steve, and fuck it if the guy doesn't like him back. But five months ago Steve was walking and talking in 1940, for fuck's sake. They electrocuted men for being gay then. So no big deal when your best mate goes and kisses you. It's just a life sentence to torture. And six months in a shiny new flashy world isn't going to wipe that knocked-in fact from a hard-drive.

 

Sometimes, Tony thinks every single IQ test he's ever had was just a fluke.

 

He's fucked it all up.

 

He throws the last pair of boxers into his suitcase with extra ferocity, to stop himself crying.

 

Clint's the first up off the couch as Tony walks by, dragging a huge suitcase behind him, but Tony's got the house on his side. The second he's through the door to the garage he makes JARVIS lock it, and no matter how hard Hawkeye slams his fist into that metal it ain't budging. Thor's hammer, perhaps, but he's done nothing to make them that desperate.

 

Yet.

 

It takes the team half an hour to get Pepper on the line. He's almost disappointed in them.

 

She doesn't say much. From what she does say, it's clear she knows. Steve got back and told them, then. He wonders, for a second, Pepper's voice fading into the background along with the hum of the engine, how the team reacted when Steve told them what he’d done. He hopes they were understanding, but he has the horrible image of Clint punching him. He doubts that guy’s gonna appreciate homophobia much. He opens his mouth to tell Pepper to make sure they treat Steve well, it's not Steve's fault after all, but then Pepper says "Just - just don't drink yourself to death," and he can't. Instead, he firmly pressed the 'end call' button on the screen display, and slams down on the acceleration.

 

He can't promise her that. He's not even going to try to - trying, he can see now, never works.

 

He's not gone suicidal; it's just - besides JARVIS, what's ever gone right?

 

He’s not talking about the money, the billionaire lifestyle, his IQ points... everything ‘good’ about him, is inherited.

 

Exhaustion stops him from driving through the days to Malibu, like he wants to, and forces himself to pull to the side of the road. The engine stops, but he doesn't close his eyes, just stares ahead.

 

Almost on auto-pilot, he rolls his head to the side and looks at the screen display. It's been flashing for a while, missed messages from pretty much everyone he knows. The whole team, of course. (Not Steve, but where's the shock there?) Coulson, Rhodey, even Happy's got in on the action. Either no-one's told Fury, or Fury doesn't give a shit. His fingers hover over the screen for a second, before clicking on each voicemail in turn. Some - Nat, Pepper, Coulson, Happy, Bruce - are all about checking he's okay. Bruce is telling him suicide's a stupid option. He's not sure if that's better, or worse, than the rest - Clint, Thor, Rhodey - telling him that, if Coulson/Nat/Pepper ever let them get their hands on Steve, he's gonna turn into Star-Spangled pulp.

 

He deletes them. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep, curled up on the driver's seat.

 

He's grateful that he doesn't dream.

 

He's not grateful that he wakes up.

 

Because what's waiting for him is one, single, solitary voicemail. And guess who from.

 

He doesn't want to listen to it. His heart tells him it's going to be more insults, or him being all Team Leader-mode and ordering Tony back. Logic tells him it's more likely to be an apology said at Clint's arrow-point, perhaps under Coulson or Pepper's stern glare.

 

He only listens to it so he can find out if he needs to yell at the team. That – truly, he tells himself – is the only reason.

 

"I - fuck this, Tony, come home. I need to apologise, to explain - I messed up, and I need you here, because - you off - and I'm so wo- so, _worried_ about you and it hurts - come home. Tony, I love you, come home."

 

The voicemail ended with a desperate sigh, before the technical beep, and Jarvis softly saying, "Do you want me to save that voicemail, sir?"

 

It's a sign of how much of a genius Tony is, that his AI knows him so well.

 

"Yeah. Save it. Main hard-drive. Forever. We got enough fuel to get back?"

 

"Sir, if you start now, and stick to a consistent 90mph, you'll be home by 9pm tonight."

 

Tony can't smile just yet, but he does something damn near. He rubs his face, starts the engine, kicks the car into 1st gear and takes off.

 

Jarvis was close. 08.32 he pulls into the garage, and even he's probably going to have to struggle to pay for the speeding tickets he’s got, but it's worth it to see everyone's faces as he enters the main room. Even more to see how, after a stuttered, awkward sentence from Clint, everyone rises and all but runs out to the kitchen.

 

All, of course, but the All-American Hero.

 

Tony's mouth opens to say something like, "So, you said something about an apology?" but he stops, because he's had all day to think about the ways he could mess this up more and saying _that_ was one of them.

 

No, he just waits, and watches how Steve's blue eyes widen, how he knots his fingers together, the movement of his mouth as he swallows, how he rubs his hand through his hair. He lets himself memorise the tightness of his jaw. He's going to let Steve speak first.

 

"Um," Steve says eventually, and that was just as eloquent as Tony expected. "Um, can I - will you let me try something?"

 

And now Tony's got to try and speak nonchalantly, something he really should have practised. "Sure," he breathes, not calmly at all.

 

It's a long pause, and not really one Tony likes before Steve slowly steps forwards. Two meters from Tony, just as Tony starts to worry about heart attacks, Steve stops and says, quickly, between breaths almost as fast as Tony's, "Don't move, okay? Just - don't move, let me just-"

 

"Sure," Tony cuts in, because he was able to say that before and it worked then too and if Steve doesn't hurry up Tony's going to faint.

 

But there's still more pauses, more moments where Steve hesitates, where their eyes meet for seconds that last longer that they ever have before, that scream a little of hope but more of earth-shattering fear. And still Steve's moving and it's slow but it's movement, until Tony can feel Steve's breath, the stutters of air, just brushing against his skin and all he can think is of how warm it is. When Steve's hand slips around the back of his head, his palm is hot, sweaty, fingers twitching as they brush through his hair and it's not a firework inspiring moment as Steve stops-and-starts as he lowers his face, and Tony's desperate to reach up and press their lips together because they're wet and warm and red and _right – there._ But he'd promised. And he's messed this up enough.

 

Besides, it happens eventually.

 

It wasn't worth waiting for. It was panicked and badly aimed and it's just Steve's rough lips pressing against the corner of Tony's mouth before pulling away again.

 

But the small smile, the small puff of air afterwards? Yeah, that might have been worth waiting for.

 

Steve has better aim the next time. Their lips press together, Tony's shaping themselves to fit and it's still not fireworks, but Tony knows from experience that _that_ comes later, in frantic hands and dark nights, lips pressing to softer, more delicate skin, but this is loving and careful and new and if that's not perfect then he really doesn't know what is. Steve's hand is softening, fingers slipping through his hair, no longer clenched and Tony lets his hand settle on Steve's hip. He jumps, lips opening and a puff of air ghost over Tony's lips but that just makes it better. Even better when Steve's lips don't close, just rest there, an invitation Tony doesn't hesitate to take.

 

Steve's lips are salty, ever so slightly. His tongue is just warm, as it brushes alongside Tony's, and that seems to be the point, the limit to what Steve can reach tonight. One swift movement Steve's hand leaves Tony's hair and his lips vanish, leaving Tony alone in a sudden dark cold before his eyes open and Steve's standing there, flushed and smiling. "I - that wasn't too bad?"

 

That it's phrased as a question is too adorable for words. Tony grins, and his hand twitches forward but he stops. "Can I - is it okay if I take your hand?" he asks. He's not messing this up any more.

 

Steve looks shocked at the idea, but - in a nice way. "Yes!" he asks, then blushes even more as he realises how exuberant he sounded. "Yes, course," he rephrases, quieter.

 

Tony tries not to chuckle as he slides his palm against Steve's, which is still slightly damp with nervous sweat, but he doesn't care. Steve's hand is bigger than his, not something he's used to, but he likes it.

 

They stand there for a while. That's nice, too. There's so much that's resolved in the silence. They'll probably say it aloud again, later, but, for now? It's unnecessary.

 

"I could - we should probably let the others back in," Steve says, head tilting back to the door the others probably all have their ears pinned to (Tony would lay good money on Clint having fetched a glass to help his hearing). But eyes don’t leave Tony's.

 

Tony remembers the others - he decides it's not to cliché to admit he'd forgotten about them if it's true - and shakes his head. "You kidding me? We've got the TV to ourselves and you want to let them _back in_?" He laughs, and leads Steve to the main couch, flicking something he really doesn't care about onto the TV.

 

A few awkward moments as they uncertainly shuffle and re-arrange, until eventually Tony's leaning against Steve's shoulder, an arm around his soldier.

 

It'll be messed up. It's months of cautious tip-toeing to come, argument about his behaviour and drinking and what to put on TV and obeying orders, someone telling him what to do that he's got to obey, messy fights that'll send him off drinking, heartbreak when the comms go down on a mission, all making something unhealthy and dangerous and twisted and addictive-

 

But -

 

He thinks he can deal.


End file.
